


my name's a lullaby, scream it out to the night sky

by tricksterhera



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Crying, Emotional Sex, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, One Shot, Porco angst, Possibly Unrequited Love, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:33:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28428609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tricksterhera/pseuds/tricksterhera
Summary: Bertoldt loves him, he loves him, he loves him so much it hurts.And he knows, because he says so.He says I love you to him, so he does.Bertoldt loves him.
Relationships: Porco Galliard/Bertolt Hoover
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	my name's a lullaby, scream it out to the night sky

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to @intonerthree for beta reading <3

Bertoldt loves him, Bertoldt loves him he says so, Bertoldt loves him so much it hurts. Bertoldt whispers deliriously at night, in the sheets, tangled together as he fucks into him like there isn’t any tomorrow. He bites Porco’s nape and says it between breaths, 

“I love you.” he would chant it over and over again, reverently as if Porco’s a deity to be worshipped, prayed to. It made him wonder sometimes, was this what Ymir felt? Being worshipped. 

The grip on his hips is bruising, digging into him like he is soft dirt at a funeral. And Bertoldt digs into him, digging and digging until he is six feet deep. The skies are grey and the dirt is cold and damp around him, except Bertoldt is warm, so very warm. His body a sun and he desperately clings to him. 

Like Marcel. “Sun and moon,” Their parents have said when they were children, inseparable, the same and so very different from each other. Like copies, some would say, but the more you look at it, the differences between them become glaringly obvious, like he’s a bad caricature of his older brother. 

Always second best.

A bad caricature of everything people have ever yearned for, thousands of faces like a mask on him. A god of lies, a substitute. Bertoldt’s teeth graze his shoulders, his breath is hot against him. 

A sad little moon, reflecting the sun.

“I love you…” behind him Bertoldt moans into his skin. Porco. He thinks, he wants the other to say his name, 

“Say my name.” he groans, face pressed to the mattress, hair a mess, behind him the movements stutters.

“Porco.” Bertoldt says, a little quizzically, 

“Say you love me.” he says, voice cracking, and in any other circumstances he would have been embarrassed, but now he only feels anticipation churning in his stomach,

“I love you.” Bertoldt complies, his movements resuming its same punishing pace as before. His arms slide around Porco and he keeps whispering ‘I love you.’. He kisses his shoulders, every mark he has left there. They’re closer than most people could be in lifetimes like this, and it’s euphoric.

Is it euphoric? It should be, and yet he feels the tears sliding down his cheeks, it scalds him, leaving trails of empty, necrotic flesh. 

“Say my name!” he sobs, and he doesn’t know why he’s so adamant on this tonight. Bertoldt loves him, he loves him, he says it all the time. They’re closer than anything in this world, closer than lovers, closer than concrete, laid together. Closer-

“Porco, Porco, Porco, Porco-” Bertoldt screams himself hoarse on his name, he says it like a song, like he was a god. This is euphoric. This is euphoric-

He feels himself reaching his completion, it was like looking at the sun directly. For a long few moments he was blinded by white, everything around him muffled. He’s afraid, irrationally in his mind whether he’ll burn up in Bertoldt's brilliant sun, as if a pale moon like him could ever measure up to a larger than life entity like Bertoldt Hoover.

“Porco.” Bertoldt says his name so gently, his fingers strokes his cheeks as he looks down at him in concern. 

“Mmhh…” he could only mumbles, everything is sore. He can feel every single bruise on his body, every single mark, and yet as any other time they have done this, he feels unwilling to heal them away. These were proof. Proof that these things happened, that they were together, even for only a night.

“You passed out for a while.” the fingers in his hair makes him purr and he nuzzles towards it like a cat towards the sun.

He makes another noncommittal sound as acknowledgement. Bertoldt is looking down at him with sad eyes, he’s concerned. Porco blinks at that, unused to the unguarded vulnerability in the other’s usually hard gaze, 

“You aren’t healing yourself,” he says, “You’ve never healed yourself after all of… this.” he finishes, unable to label their trysts.

He doesn’t know what to say to this. Bertoldt’s eyes grew sadder and he wants to cry. Don’t look at me like that. Like he loves him. The clarity of his post orgasmic haze always tears away his denial. Bertoldt doesn’t love him. 

The man himself is now wiping away the tears on the ginger’s eyes, bending down to kiss it away, trailing down his face to plant a kiss on Porco’s lips.

Was he crying?

“I love you.” Bertoldt says to him as he pulls away from their kiss. Say my name, say my name, say my name- he screams in his head as he holds him close.

“I love you.” Bertoldt keeps saying as they drift off to a tired slumber, like he’s trying to convince himself, convince Porco.

But he knows.

Bertoldt doesn’t love him. 

He loves another.


End file.
